


On the Hotline

by duplicity



Series: Retail Hell [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Assassin Tom Riddle, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humor, Harry has a praise kink, M/M, Murder, exactly the same vibe, harry really doesn't know what he's getting himself into, if you liked 'anytime at all' you will LOVE this story, tom has a sexy customer service voice, tom is a mail order husband - i mean assassin, tom simps so hard for harry he's got anime-sized heart eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29059176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: When Harry calls an assassin hotline, he's expecting it to be a fun prank that's good for a laugh. What he gets is Tom Riddle, a budding assassin who takes his jobveryseriously.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Retail Hell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851667
Comments: 60
Kudos: 394





	On the Hotline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the distractions 💬 discord server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+distractions+%F0%9F%92%AC+discord+server).



> written because Trixie reblogged [this post](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com/post/641584578068463617) on tumblr, prompting me to think to myself, I HAVE TO WRITE THIS, AND I HAVE TO WRITE IT TODAY. so here we are, 8k words later, still today! insanity. please send help
> 
> title is taken from the song 'hotline' by the sylvers. a helluva banger.
> 
> thank you to everyone in my discord server who enabled this and gave me ideas while i was writing this out! i love you all dearly 
> 
> minor tw for a non-graphic mention of a sexual assault instance that occurred in the workplace.

"Call it!"

"This couldn't possibly be a real number!" Hermione said loudly.

Ron shook his head with vigor and gave Harry a nudge with his shoulder. "Call it. Put it on speaker phone. I _dare_ you. Do it. I want to see who picks up."

Hermione was not pleased at being ignored. "I'm telling you! It's _not real!_ You're going to get some scam on the other end of the line. Make sure you don't give them any personal information, Harry. I've seen on the news that if they have your full name, they'll use the recording of your voice as consent for a verbal contract."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. That's insane! What are they even going to make him agree to?" Ron argued. "Nothing bad is going to happen. If we get some weird response, we'll just hang up. Right, Harry?"

Harry stared at his two best friends. This felt very much like an 'angel vs. devil on your shoulder' kind of moment. Logically, he knew nothing _too_ horrible could happen to him for calling a strange number on the internet that was advertising itself as an assassin hotline. Maybe he would get some more annoying spam phone calls over the next few weeks, but that would be all.

So Harry picked up his phone, punched in the number, punched the speaker phone button, and waited for the phone to ring.

_RING. RING. RINNNG._

"A _terrible_ idea," Hermione said, enunciating for emphasis even though her gaze was fixed on the phone screen.

"Shhh," Ron said. "Let Harry answer."

Three more rings later, the phone picked up.

"Voldemort's Assassin Hotline. My name is Tom, and I'll be assisting you with all your assassination needs today."

"Er, yes." Harry tried to think of what the appropriate phone etiquette for this situation would be. "I would like to... mail order an assassin."

Ron coughed. When Harry looked at him, Ron mouthed the word 'mail order?' and made a flapping gesture in the air with his hand. Harry wasn't exactly sure what that was meant to convey, so he let it be.

There was a pause in which Harry could hear the faint sound of measured breaths on the other end of the line. "I'm afraid that we do not offer... in-person meetings as a part of our services."

"Oh." Damn it. What kind of services did assassins even offer? This was pretty wild for a prank call line. Should he be offering a target? That felt morbid. Harry wasn't certain he could offer someone up to be murdered, even hypothetically.

Tom cleared his throat. "Why don't we begin with a few general questions?" Tom asked. Harry noted that the slight breathlessness was back. "Then I can propose a solution that would best suit your needs." Now Harry could also hear the faint tap-tap of computer keys. From the sound of it, Tom sure typed very quickly.

Shit. Where was that website? It had information on it, didn't it? He should have looked at it more seriously before he'd impulsively called. Harry gestured frantically for his laptop, which Hermione snatched up and handed over to him.

"Sure," Harry said, trying to mask his nerves as he started to scroll the website again. "Ask away."

"Wonderful. Now, I will require a first name and a last name." The typing was still going on in the background. The repetitiveness of it was not setting Harry at ease.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but he did not manage to utter a single syllable before Hermione shrieked, "I _told_ you not to give your full name!"

Silence. Tom had even stopped typing. Harry removed his glasses temporarily so he could rub at his face.

"I meant the name of the victim," Tom said, voice straining around the edges. He sounded almost stressed. Harry didn't blame him. "Client privacy is an essential part of our services. Rest assured that all information given stays between us."

Hermione huffed in displeasure, but said nothing further. Ron elbowed her in the side, then leant in and said to the phone, "We are just, er, concerned about the security. High profile target and everything."

"A valid concern," Tom said. There was a pleasant, soothing cadence to Tom's voice now. Harry rather felt he liked hearing it. Did hotlines hire people with nice voices to speak for them? "Now, the name of the target?"

This was exactly the question Harry had been afraid of having to answer. He exchanged a panicked look with Hermione, then Ron. Hermione shook her head back and forth in a negative way, while Ron mouthed 'Malfoy' over and over. Harry didn't think Malfoy warranted being labelled as a high-profile target, though.

Who did people assassinate? Politicians? Hermione always raged about wanting politicians dead because they were racist old white men. That seemed like a safe, non-offensive choice to make—though why he was so intent on not offending Tom in the first place was escaping him at the moment.

"Cornelius Fudge," Harry said confidently.

"Ambitious," Tom praised without missing a beat. Harry felt weirdly happy at hearing Tom's approval, which was probably some kind of red flag that he should have been aware of beforehand. "We can skip the next few steps given that the Minister's address and workplace are common public knowledge." Again, more typing noises.

"Okay," Harry agreed. "So what's the next step?"

"I am going to give you the number to a burner phone," Tom instructed. "I will ask that you forward any additional information you may have on the target. This includes blueprints, passwords, schedules or timetables—anything you think may be helpful. Please keep in mind that more information is better than none. If you have doubts, consider sending it regardless." Then Tom's typing paused. Harry had to check that the phone was still connected, which it was.

"Tom?"

"Take as much time as you need," Tom said distantly. "I'll be here if you require assistance."

"Sounds great," Harry said, pulling up a blank text document on his computer. "Let me just—what's the number?"

Tom rattled off a string of digits, which Harry dutifully put into the text document. Harry repeated it to be sure, then stared at it along with Ron and Hermione. This was going to take some serious bullshitting. "Can I—we—have a few minutes? Maybe you could put us on hold?"

"Of course. Shall we reconvene in say, fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, please," Harry said. "Thank you," he added for good measure.

"My pleasure, darling." There was the faint click as the phone was transferred to a hold line, and then Harry's flat was filled with classical music.

"Did that assassin just call you 'darling'?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"He broke character," Ron said, sounding unimpressed. "This isn't a dating hotline, it's an _assassin_ hotline."

"Yes, well," Harry said, flustered. "We need to find some information about Fudge to give to him, don't we?" Something impressive, hopefully. Impressive enough for Tom to comment on it.

"Exactly! See, Harry's got his priorities straight—"

"Priorities? For what? This is a joke—"

While _that_ argument was happening, Harry started to type 'Cornelius Fudge' into his Google search bar.

"Christ, Harry," said Ron, squinting as he bent over to look. "Do you really think he's going to buy what you give him off _Google?"_

"Neither of you are giving me any better ideas!" Harry said, now starting to panic. "We've got maybe ten minutes left to come up with something reasonable. So yes, I will use Google! It's better than nothing!" He could make something up, but that felt like _cheating._

Hermione exhaled dramatically as she eyed Harry's laptop, which currently had the Minister's Wikipedia page open. "Give me one moment, you idiots." She retrieved her own mobile and unlocked it. Harry and Ron watched as she started swiping through various document screens. "I cannot believe you are making me do this."

"Making her," Ron said in an undertone. "As if."

"There," Hermione said, not a minute later. "I've sent everything I had from my internship at the office to Ron's phone. I assume he'll expect us to be using another burner phone to respond, and I refuse to use mine. You can send it if you must, but if anyone asks you about _anything,_ you'd best say you took it from me or there _will_ be consequences." She glared at them.

Ron pulled the documents up on his phone and skimmed through them. He snickered. "You included that essay you wrote on why Fudge was a snobby, incompetent bastard. I thought you said you wrote that to let out steam?"

"Doesn't make it any less true!"

Harry brought the number back up onto his screen and swiveled it in Ron's direction. "Send," he instructed, just to make sure it got done before Ron and Hermione got into another bickering match.

"Okay! Okay. It'll take a while to send everything one at a time. Sure hope this bloke has good service."

Harry had forgotten that Ron's phone was an older model and therefore could only run basic text and call functions before it started to struggle. A glance at the clock showed they had two minutes left. They would not finish uploading everything by then, but at least Harry could tell Tom that they _did_ have information to send, it was just slow going.

There were five files left when the music stopped and Tom's line reconnected. "Hello? Are you still with me, lovely?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly. "We're still sending a few more files over."

"There's no rush," Tom promised. "I understand these things take time. Feel free to send any further documents to the same number for the rest of the day. Let me take a look at what you've sent so far..."

Harry's leg shook up and down while he waited for Tom's response. What would Tom read first? Harry wasn't even sure what Ron had sent to him, other than Hermione's essay. Oh god, what if it _was_ Hermione's essay? Harry loved Hermione dearly, but her angry political rants were not exactly the most endearing first impression one could make.

On the other end of the line, Tom started humming. It was the classical music from before. Maybe Tom would think that they'd just stolen the essay from somewhere? Not that it was something Harry had written out personally.

"This is very thorough," Tom said after some time. Harry released his held breath and dipped his head down, the better to hear the voice coming through the phone. "Classified documents, no less." There was a brief pause in which Harry assumed Tom was looking at another page of something classified. "You've been planning this for some time, haven't you?" Tom sounded pleased, and that was also music to Harry's ears. "Worry not, for you've come to the right place for help."

On some level, Harry was aware that 'planning this' actually meant 'planning to hire an assassin for murder', but that context now existed solely in a part of his brain that had been shoved into a box and locked up. "Thanks," Harry said. "I'm glad it's helpful."

"It is _very_ helpful. You've made my job much easier," Tom praised. "Which brings us to our next step. Based on what you've told me, I believe you'll be requiring our Platinum Political Package. There will be additional charges given the status and difficulty of the target, as well as prorated charges for our hacking services. However, thanks to your lovely bundle of information, I do believe the amount of information to extract will be minimal."

"That's great," Harry agreed. "Sounds great."

"I'll be able to forward you a breakdown by the end of the hour."

"Awesome."

"Now, there are a few more trivial details to handle," Tom continued. "Namely to do with security and the like." Harry inhaled nervously at that, a sound his phone must have picked up on because Tom added, "Nothing to worry about, darling. This is all very routine." Then Tom started typing again. This time, Harry found the sound soothing. "Am I correct in assuming this is your first time?"

"Ask him if their assassins have profiles or something we can look at," Ron whispered, giving Harry a nudge. "Can we like, pick who does it? Or is that not a thing?"

Harry ignored that. "What do we need to do for security?" Harry asked Tom. "We can't keep using burner phones, can we?"

"Precisely. There is also the matter of payment. We have a few options for payment pickup for your convenience, of course..."

Ron shot Hermione a warning look, but it did not seem like Hermione was going to interrupt for once. Even Harry knew better than to give his bank info over the phone to a stranger, even if said stranger was unfairly attractive.

"...as well as various acceptable methods of payment. Cash is preferred, but we also accept e-transfers given the appropriate safety measures..."

Payment? Somehow, Harry didn't feel like giving fake payment info was going to work out. Especially since Tom was implying that the best option was a shady cash drop off.

"You still with me, darling?" Tom sounded concerned. "I won't require the full amount upfront. Just a small percentage to ensure we are both committed."

Hermione was waving her hands frantically in the air, gesturing for Harry to hang up. She likely thought this was a scam. Harry looked at Ron. Ron was nodding, like he was resigned to it being a scam as well.

"I need you to say something," Tom said. There was definitely a stressed edge to his words, and Harry felt bad about that, but he didn't know what else to say. "Is it the connection?" Tom pressed. "Harry?"

"I—" Harry blinked. It was like a bright ray of sunlight had just broken through his fog of distracted thoughts. "I never mentioned my name was Harry."

Hermione and Ron went still, staring at the phone in horror. Then Hermione scrambled forward, trying to grab the phone so she could hang up the call.

Harry, for what were probably very deluded reasons, knocked her hand out of the way and snatched his phone up. He switched the speaker function off and lifted it to his ear as he scuttled backwards, out of Hermione's reach. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"It's a hacker—!" Ron was saying while Hermione continued her attempts to steal Harry's phone out of his hand. Harry got to his feet and ran through his flat, into his room, and shut the door. By that time, Harry was panting and breathless, but Tom still had not responded.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked, incredulous. He was certain, however, that he would have remembered hearing Tom's voice before, distinctive as it was. "Have we met before?"

"Did you just run into a different room and lock yourself into it?" Tom asked with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Shut up," Harry said. Any moment now, Hermione was going to break down his door. "Are you a hacker? What is going on here?"

Tom blew out a frustrated gust of air that fizzled through the phone line like static. "That was unprofessional of me and you have my apologies. Admittedly, I was curious as to who wanted to hire me. I took the time to trace your call and uncover your personal information. Please know that I will not use this with malicious intent—"

"Hire _you?"_ Shoving aside all that insanity about tracing the call, Harry couldn't help but remember what Ron had said about assassin profiles. Harry could picture the assassin equivalent of a Pokemon card—a bright silver card with Tom's name scrawled on it. Or maybe a Yelp review. Five stars for the sexy customer service voice, zero stars for respecting customer privacy. "Isn't this supposed to be an organization of some kind?"

"I can do _whatever_ I set my mind to." Tom's voice was dangerously low. Even though the poor quality of the phone call, it sent a tremor of unease rolling down Harry's back. "I could dispose of Fudge without the information you provided. What matters to me is that my talents have direction and purpose."

Harry opened his mouth to respond and was abruptly interrupted as Hermione slammed into the door he was leaning against. His entire body startled, his phone nearly slipping from his hand.

"Harry, hang up right this instant!"

"Go away!" Harry yelled back. "I'm not hanging up just yet!"

"Leave him be," Ron said loyally. Harry could imagine Ron tugging at Hermione's arm in an attempt to pull her away. "He's not going to give this bloke his bank info regardless of how much flirting they do."

Harry _really_ hoped that Tom hadn't heard that.

"Harry, are you alright?" That was Tom speaking, oddly enough. Harry focused on him and ignored Hermione's half-hearted protests warbling through the wooden door. "Is the room secure?"

This was getting ridiculous. "You are not an assassin," Harry said firmly. "Maybe you're a—a hacker, or whatever. But looking up someone's personal info isn't funny, alright? It's not."

"I understand that, I do." Tom sighed, and for a while there was only the distant whirring of Tom's computer in the background. Then he said, "It was... a personal curiosity of mine."

"A personal curiosity," Harry repeated, dumbfounded.

Tom cleared his throat. "Returning to the original purpose of our call, I'm afraid we do not issue receipts for our transactions. If you'd like, I could arrange for a confirmation package to be sent to your home address."

Confirmation package? Harry pictured a severed finger in a shoebox. He scrunched his face up. "Er, I don't think that's really necessary. Also, we are not doing the assassination thing. Seriously."

"Fine. You don't think me capable—" This charade was going way too far, Harry thought, dazed. "—I'll just have to prove it to you." Tom made a thoughtful sound. "It's perfectly sensible to be wary of an unproven entity, but very soon you'll come to recognize and appreciate the quality of my work."

The line between reality and delusion was getting fuzzy. Did Tom think he was an assassin? Or was this all still part of the... scam? The hotline roleplay? Harry didn't even know what was happening anymore.

"I think," Harry said carefully, "I'm going to hang up now, if that's alright."

“I'll be in touch," Tom promised. Then the line went dead.

Harry lowered his phone from his ear and looked at it. The sensible thing to do, the _Hermione_ thing to do, would be to block the number, but that wouldn't stop Tom from trying to contact him anyway.

"I hung up," Harry called out, just in case Ron and Hermione were still hovering by the door.

"Good," Hermione answered tiredly.

"Now what?" Ron asked. "He knows your name, right? Is that all?"

Harry shuffled away from the door so he could wrench it open. "Yeah," Harry said. "Just my name." No point in worrying his friends about this. "Might have been caller ID or something, but it's probably for the best that I hung up."

"Did you block the number?" Hermione demanded.

"Nope, but you can watch me do it right now." Harry brought up the recents menu on his phone, selected the number, and blocked it. "Happy?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She folded her arms over her chest. "That was quite enough excitement for one night. I think we should head out for dinner rather than order in."

"Great plan," Ron agreed. "Does this mean you're paying?"

Hermione scoffed at him. The three of them made their way down the hall towards the door. _"Why_ would my suggestion imply that, Ron?"

"Well, you see, eating out's more expensive than eating in—"

Harry tuned out their conversation as they grabbed their coats and left the apartment building. All he could think about was Tom saying he'd be in touch soon.

* * *

Several days later, Minister Fudge made the news. More specifically, he had made the news because he was dead.

"They're saying it's an extremist group," Hermione said angrily when she came to visit later that afternoon. "I don't believe it! It has to be one of his political enemies. They're only framing it as an extremist group to discredit our platform—"

Harry had no idea how Hermione could say all that as if they'd not just called an assassin hotline last week, asking for the murder of Cornelius Fudge.

"That was a scammer," Hermione insisted when he brought it up to her. "It didn't mean anything. Besides, I didn't have any information on the Minister's private house, so how would he have gotten in?"

Harry did _not_ say that Tom had claimed to be perfectly capable of committing murder without her information, because that would have not gone over very well.

So Harry tried to put it from his mind. Unfortunately, he did not succeed, and thus his problems were exacerbated when he got a text from an unknown number later that evening.

_ > Hello Harry, _

_ > We thought you'd like to know that your confirmation package has been approved. Your package is on its way, and drop off can be expected within the next 48 hours. Have a nice evening. _

_ > Please do not reply to this message. _

What was this? An Amazon delivery notification? Harry read the text again to see if it would suddenly make more sense. Why did Tom use an automated system for his _assassination business?_

Harry wanted to laugh, or cry, or maybe do both at the same time. If a finger in a shoebox was delivered within the next 48 hours, Harry was going to call up Tom and yell at him, assassin or not.

Disgruntled, Harry resumed his fruitless attempts to distract himself. All the while, Tom's ominous text echoed in his mind. Would someone ring the doorbell? Or would Harry leave his house and find a suspicious box sitting on his doorstep?

The day ended without any package arriving. Harry had mixed feelings about this. On one hand, he was dreading what the word 'confirmation' implied. On the other, he wanted to get this package thing over and done with.

That night, Harry tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. He kept imagining Tom breaking into his house. However, he had no clue what Tom looked like, which meant his imagination had had no features to work with. Instead, his mind conjured a dark shadow with bloody hands, which had to be a million times worse than however Tom really looked.

Harry woke feeling uneasy. He checked his front door before he brushed his teeth. He checked it again after he took a shower. He checked it when he left the house to meet Ron, and then proceeded to be antsy and distracted all afternoon, much to his own dismay.

Luckily, Ron seemed to get that he wasn't all there today, which was a relief. Harry would have hated to explain that he was nervous about an assassin sending body parts to his flat.

When Harry arrived back home, there was still no package. Harry staggered into his living room and collapsed on the couch. One more day of this, then he would be put out of his misery, figuratively and perhaps even literally.

Then the doorbell rang.

Harry shot to his feet and practically ran for the door. Once his hand was on the doorknob, he realized that some common sense was in order before he just recklessly opened the door like a moron. So Harry utilized the peephole in the door to look out into the hallway outside. There was a man there, dressed in an Amazon delivery person's uniform.

An actual package? From Amazon? Harry squinted at the delivery man. Most of his face was obscured by the glass of the peephole and the plain ball cap he was wearing.

"Hello?" Harry called. He hadn't ordered anything, of course, but it seemed... absurd... to say the least, that Tom would arrange for an Amazon delivery.

The man's head lifted, revealing a handsome face and dark eyes. "Special delivery," said the man, smiling, and Harry would have recognized that voice _anywhere—_

With shaking hands, Harry unlatched the door and tugged it open. But before he could say anything, a large box was shoved into his arms. Harry stumbled back half a step, shocked. The box was heavier than he expected. "What—"

"Special delivery," Tom repeated gently as he tugged off his cap. Harry was distracted by the way Tom's hair fell in neat waves over his head even after being trapped in a hat. "Just for you," Tom added, still smiling as he settled his palm on the back of Harry's right hand, applying the slightest bit of pressure there.

Harry felt his face heat up. "Er, I don't know what to say." He looked at the box in his arms—the box that was too heavy to hold body parts. Hopefully. Harry gave it a light shake up and down. He could hear some solid things sliding around inside.

"No need to say anything, sweetheart," Tom said reassuringly. "We'll consider this job as a gift to show my admiration, hmm?" He lifted his hand up to Harry's cheek, then dipped his head to place a kiss there. Harry, with his feet frozen in place and his arms full with the not-body-parts box, couldn't speak.

"I look forward to servicing you again soon," Tom murmured. He gave Harry's hand one final squeeze, then departed.

Harry took his box back inside and set it on the coffee table. It had his full name and full address on it, but the label and the box didn't have any Amazon logos on them. So it was just the outfit, then. Tom just had a thing for roleplay.

Actually, nope, that was not the direction his thoughts ought to be headed in. Harry got up to look for scissors so he could open the box.

He had to search through two drawers before he found them, and by then his bravado had faltered and he was nervous all over again. Still, he wanted to know what Tom had given him, even if it was something straight out of a horror movie.

Harry ran his scissors over the packing tape on both ends, then over the main piece of tape on the top. He set the scissors aside, then picked them back up. Then he felt stupid for doing that. It wasn't like something was going to jump out of the box and attack him. Harry put the scissors down and opened the box up.

Inside the box were a number of items wrapped in red tissue paper. Harry picked up one of the smaller ones. It was a medium-sized, flat rectangle. That was safe, right? That had to be safe.

Harry tore the wrapping off. It was a bar of chocolate. A fancy, gourmet brand of chocolate that Hermione claimed not to like because her parents were dentists, but Harry knew for a fact that she had a stash of it in her flat.

It was good chocolate. Harry bought it sometimes for her as a gift even though she pretended not to like it.

Vaguely soothed by the innocuous nature of this first gift—oh, shit, this package _was_ a gift, wasn't it—Harry turned his attention to the next neatly-wrapped item, which was also a rectangle shape, only larger. Rectangle was good because it was not associated with any body parts, though Harry supposed a body part could be put _into_ a box.

When Harry tore the wrapping off his latest present, it uncovered a phone tripod. Not just any phone tripod, but the one that had been sitting on his Amazon wishlist for months because he'd been too indecisive to buy it. Harry stared at the rest of his 'confirmation package' with suspicion.

Harry had a maddening need to know if his suspicions were correct, and this urgency fueled him through rapidly unwrapping the remainder of his gifts. There was a fashionable pair of leather gloves, a 13-function stainless steel pocket tool, and a new mini Bluetooth speaker. Tom had even bought the stupid silicone oven mitts he'd put into his cart at some point then wound up saving for later.

These were all items either taken directly from Harry's purchase history, or from his careless private wishlist that was half full of junk he didn't actually need.

"This is insane," Harry said, just so he could hear the words spoken aloud.

Two more wrapped items awaited him in the box. One of them was a set of novelty, dog-shaped salt and pepper shakers. The other item was an expensive-looking cocktail shaker. Out of all the items that had arrived in this box, the shaker was the only one that had no packaging.

Now, Harry didn't drink cocktails much, or prepare his own, but he figured this was likely Tom's strange way of asking him out for a drink or something along those lines.

Carefully, Harry pried the top of the shaker off. There was nothing hidden there, but the strainer was speckled with droplets of condensation. With numb fingers, Harry twisted off the lid. Inside was full of ice.

Okay. To the kitchen. Harry stood up and walked to where his sink was waiting for him. Then he dumped out all the ice into the sink. There was... a card. A laminated card with writing on it.

There was also _an actual human finger_ that was encased in—god help him—shrink wrap? Was that shrink wrap? What the hell.

Feeling oddly detached from it all, Harry fished out the finger and the card, then turned on the tap and let hot water run over the ice, melting it down the drain.

What did Tom think he was going to do with this? Harry dropped the finger back into the empty shaker and screwed the lid back on. There. Now it was like it didn't exist. He set the shaker on his kitchen counter and read the note on his way back to the couch.

_'He won't be laying hands on anyone again.'_

It took several minutes before the meaning sunk in. Harry knew, because Hermione had told him, that Fudge had been accused, but never convicted, of sexual assault in the workplace. After finding out, Hermione had quit her internship out of protest, but the accusations had never gone public so far as Harry knew.

So Harry was not sad that Fudge was gone. If Hermione ever found out, she might even be pleased despite her strong feelings regarding vigilantism and the death penalty.

None of this meant, however, that Harry wanted the dead man's finger in a damn cocktail shaker on his kitchen counter.

Harry flipped the card over. There was a new phone number with a time and date listed underneath. With a resigned feeling deep in his gut, Harry pulled out his phone and texted the number a single question mark.

A few seconds later, a response came through. It was an address followed by the same 'do not reply' post script as before.

Harry was sorely tempted to text back with a biting remark that asked why Tom couldn't afford an actual assistant, but that seemed rude to say to someone who had just bought him presents, however unwanted and accompanied by body parts those presents may have been.

So instead of doing that, Harry checked the time on the card, then replied with a very simple, one-word question.

> Dinner?

The response was instant.

_ > As enjoyable as this job was for us both, I'd like to revisit your initial proposition, if the offer still stands. _

Initial proposition? Harry racked his memories for what they'd talked about during their phone call. The only thing they'd really discussed was Fudge. Unless…

> Mail-order assassin?

A few seconds passed, then Tom responded:

_ > In-person meetings may be offered to particularly favoured clients. One of our newest policies, in addition to the package you received. _

Harry looked at the message for at least a few minutes, aware that Tom was waiting for a response but unable to think of how to phrase what he was thinking.

Tom was an assassin. He _killed_ people for a living. Granted, the only person he'd killed that Harry knew of was Fudge, but the point still stood. Tom had killed Fudge to prove a point, then sent the finger, along with a disturbingly well-prepared care package, to Harry like it was a symbol of devotion.

Finally, Harry settled for asking:

> Will we be discussing business again?

There was a pause that stretched on. Harry's phone stayed silent in his hand. Harry knew he didn't have a right to be annoyed after he'd taken so long to respond, but that didn't mean he liked it.

_ > Only if you want to. _

Harry felt relieved upon reading that.

> And if I don't?

_ > Then we'll simply have to settle for satisfying our personal curiosities, won't we? _

Harry was sure he'd gone mad, then, because reading that brought a bit of a smile to his face. He swore he could hear Tom in his head speaking those exact words with his attractive voice.

> I'll have a lot of questions for you, seeing as you already seem to know everything about me.

_ > If we're skipping business, then I am an open book for you, darling. _

Now Harry was having mixed feelings about the blanket ban on business talk. He did not want to get involved in another assassination, but he also wanted to know exactly what it was that Tom did, how he did it, and _why_ he did it.

> What if I have questions about that?

There was another pause that Harry more than willing to sit through, and then:

_ > We can discuss it in person. _

That was fair, Harry decided. Just because they'd been sort of involved in one murder together, didn't mean that Tom wanted to talk about all his other hypothetical murders.

Hypothetical murders, god. Harry took a second to stick his hand under his glasses so he could rub at his eyes.

His best bet was to treat this like a normal date despite the fact that it was not, and maybe hope things would work out from there.

Well. When he put it like that, it sounded like an utter recipe for disaster, like what happened to girls in movies who tried to rehabilitate bad boys with no moral qualms and no sense of empathy.

Harry went and poured himself a glass of water. The problem was, Tom was very hot and Harry was very gay. This was not a decision anyone with his level of self-control should ever have to make.

Harry tapped out a response and sent it before he could change his mind.

> Okay, I'll see you then :)

Tom sent a smiley face back in response. Harry put his phone away and drained his glass of water in several large gulps.

It remained to be seen whether this—'this' being Harry's date with a legitimate assassin—would last in person, but Harry was willing to give Tom the benefit of the doubt. His gifts had been thoughtful, if creepy.

Actually, wait, there was one more really important thing that Harry _really_ ought to ask before they met up.

> Is your name actually Tom?

This time there was a bit of a delay before Harry got a response.

_ > Yes, it is. _

> Okay, just checking haha

Harry turned on 'do not disturb' and tossed his phone across the couch to avoid reeling from the second-hand awkwardness.

He'd committed now, so there was no backing down. He and Tom were going to go on a date, and if their recent interaction was anything to go by, it would probably be a very nice date, which would only add to the surreality of his current predicament.

Harry slouched back on the couch and stared at his ceiling. If he and Tom started dating for real, how was he going to explain this to Ron and Hermione?

_'Yes, this is that hotline guy we called a week ago. No, haha, he's not a real assassin. Um, no, he's not a scammer either, Hermione—'_

Harry was going to have to ask what Tom's job was aside from moonlighting as an assassin, but that was a problem for—Harry looked at the date on the card—three-days-from-now Harry. It was _not_ a problem for today's Harry. Today’s Harry was going to eat gourmet chocolate and maybe test out some classical music on his new Bluetooth speaker.

* * *

MORE THAN THREE DAYS LATER.

* * *

"Did you get out plates for the pizza?"

"Uh, no." Harry set the box on the table and opened it up to check the contents over. "I can get them in a minute. You can sit down."

"It's fine," said Hermione. "I know where they are." And then she went into the kitchen.

There was the sound of cupboards opening and closing repeatedly. Hermione, Harry realized, did _not_ know where his plates where, and that was because he had recently moved everything around to accommodate the—

"Harry? Where did you get this?"

"Come on," Ron protested. "I'm hungry. How hard is it to find plates?"

Hermione came marching out with Tom's cocktail shaker in hand. Harry cursed several times in his head as his stomach dropped away. He should have gotten rid of the damn thing when he'd made Tom get rid of the finger, but he'd felt bad (there was _no reason_ for him to feel bad, but that did not stop him from feeling bad anyway) that he'd refused the finger, as stupid as it sounded.

"I got it as a gift," Harry said promptly, all the while wondering where the hell Tom had gotten the shaker from to begin with. Hermione recognized it, though, which meant there was every chance in the world that—

"This looks exactly like the one Fudge used to keep for his dinner parties," Hermione said, sounding disgusted. "He said it was vintage."

Harry should have beaten the damn thing to a metal heap. "Oh?" he asked, trying for indifference but probably landing somewhere in the realm of 'vaguely suspicious'.

"Horrid thing," Hermione said with a sniff. She gave it a shake. "Never thought I'd have to see it again. Or one that looks like it, anyhow. Who did you say gave this to you again?"

"Hermione," said Ron, sounding exasperated. "The man's dead. His cocktail shaker doesn't matter."

Harry took the opportunity to snatch the shaker back. "I don't remember," he lied. "I don't make drinks, so I've never used it. Probably never will, really." That was the truth. "I found it while I was cleaning up my cupboards the other day." A half lie. "That's why everything's been moved around, sorry." Harry really was sorry about all of this.

"Pizza time?" Ron said hopefully.

"I'll get the plates," Harry confirmed. He put the shaker back and took out three plates while Hermione sat down at the table.

Once the shaker was safely stored in his cupboard, Harry let out a sigh of relief. He and Tom were going to have a very long discussion about gifting stolen items without prior consent, and possibly a follow-up discussion on stealing in general. Tom might be clever enough to get away with murder, but he was _not_ clever enough to get away with thieving recognizable items.

"Here," Harry said, handing the plates out. Ron wasted no time in grabbing two slices, but Hermione took her time, a thoughtful expression settling over her face while she waited for Ron to finish.

"Speaking of Fudge," she said, "did you ever hear back from that man? Tom? The one we called that day on the hotline."

"No," Harry said. "Why would I hear back from him?"

"Not that I want anything to happen to you, but generally I would expect him to call back after having used your stolen information to do something nefarious, like lock you out of your accounts. It's happened to other people, you know. They hold your email account and things ransom and make you give money to get them back."

"Well, that hasn't happened, so I think I'm going to be just fine."

"That's good. I'd be cautious, though. Have you changed all your passwords? Maybe you should borrow my laptop in case yours has been compromised."

Harry wanted to eat pizza and not think about this. "I think it's fine, Hermione. Really. But thank you."

"If you're sure." Hermione scooped a slice onto her plate and started eating. Somehow it felt like she was still judging him for being lax with his personal security.

If only she knew the true extent to which Harry had truly compromised himself—multiple times and in multiple places. She'd be appalled. Harry snorted a bit to himself and refrained from mentioning the fact that according to Tom, the only person allowed to hack Harry's personal devices was him.

"I got a security upgrade," Harry settled for saying. "On my laptop. Does that make you feel better?"

Hermione frowned, which meant she was surprised, and then smoothed her expression over, which meant she was reluctantly impressed but not about to say so. "I'm glad you're taking it seriously."

"Yeah, well, my experience with Voldemort's Assassin Hotline made me rethink a lot of things," Harry deadpanned.

Ron started laughing. "God. I can't believe anyone would pick a name like that and not expect everyone to think it was a scam. Is the website still up, do you reckon?"

"I think it is," Harry said affably. "Why? Are you thinking of calling again?" That might be kind of funny, actually.

Ron looked at Hermione. "No," he said, which meant 'maybe'.

Harry’s phone rang just then, stalling any retaliation on Hermione's side. "Sorry, let me just—" Harry fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket, then nearly dropped his phone onto his pizza when he saw that it was an unlisted number. Nowadays, he only got calls from unlisted numbers that were actually calls from Tom Riddle.

"Who is it?" Ron asked when Harry made no move to answer.

"Someone." Harry was debating whether to pick up or not.

"Is it a date?" Hermione asked, gaze narrowing on his phone. "Why aren't you answering it?"

"No, it's. Er. It's a date, but—" Harry stammered. Deciding to go with the lesser of two evils, he hit the answer button to avoid Hermione's interrogation. "Hello?"

"Hello," Tom said warmly. "Are you busy right now, lovely?"

"Um. A little. Did you need something?"

"No, I was simply in the mood to hear your charming voice." Harry imagined Tom sitting in his office, his chin parked on his hands like he was an infatuated school girl. It was, unfortunately, an adorable mental image.

"That's nice," Harry choked out through his rising embarrassment. Hermione and Ron were both staring at him as a red flush crept across his face.

"I'm sorry," Tom said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Are you with other people? I know you said you didn't like it when I compliment you too much in public, but it's really so very hard to resist. Your reactions are delectable, darling. I can't help myself."

"Yes, well," Harry said, then promptly lost his track of thought. He should have just let Hermione bully him. "Not right now," he finished, aware that his response was not a real response to Tom's original question. "I'm hanging up on you now because I'm busy."

"Miss you already, sweet—"

Harry hung up and pointedly looked down at his plate rather than at his friends. He picked up his pizza slice and took a large bite of it.

"Okay," Ron said. "Seeing as we're pretending that didn't happen, I'm going to change the topic entirely."

"Great," Harry said. "Fire away, Ron."

"So, Harry, when's your next date planned for?" Ron said, grinning.

"That is not changing the topic," Harry protested. "That's the same topic!"

"You said it wasn't a date," Hermione pointed out.

Harry pulled himself together. This was _his_ flat. He wasn't going to be mocked in his own flat. He had dignity. And a boyfriend who would probably kill people for him for free, if he asked.

"We had sex on the table," Harry said promptly. "On Friday. More than once."

"Gross, what the hell? I didn't need to know that—" Ron scowled and picked his plate up off the table like it had offended him personally. Then, after a beat, he picked the pizza box up off the table as well.

"That—" Hermione faltered. "That does not sound very comfortable."

_"That's_ the part you take issue with?" Ron demanded. "Not the fact that this is where we eat food?"

"I'm sure Harry cleaned up after himself," Hermione said, straight faced.

Harry wondered if he said no, he hadn't, would that finally break Hermione the way he'd broken Ron by desecrating the sanctity of the dinner table with sex.

"Well," Harry began. "After the table we moved on over there, and over there—" Ron clapped his hands over his eyes. "It's a bit of a blur, honestly. I should make him take me back to his, next time."

"Yes," Ron said. "You do that."

"The table is probably fine," Harry finished. "At any rate, it's been a few days since Friday."

Hermione did not look very happy to hear that. Harry both hoped and did not hope that she and Ron would remember this conversation when they inevitably met Tom at some later point in time.

"I'm glad you've met someone," Hermione said several beats later. "And that it's going, um, so well!"

"Yep," Harry said. "Real well."

"We've established Harry's having a great time," Ron said. "Awesome. Now we are moving on and letting the topic die forever."

"Did you want to meet him? I can call him right now, he said he wasn't busy—"

"No, that's fine," Hermione said, smiling. "We're just having our usual night together, there's no need to overcomplicate it."

"If you're sure." Harry parked an elbow on the table and propped his chin on his fist, careful to avoid touching his face with pizza grease. "He's a real sweet talker."

"If he's anything like Lavender," said Ron, "then I'm going to need two to three business days to recover from _today's_ news before I meet him."

"No one's as bad as Lavender," Hermione said scathingly, past events clearly neither forgotten nor forgiven. She turned back to Harry. "I'm sure your new boyfriend is very nice. What's his name?"

"It's... Tom."

"Tom?" repeated Hermione. "Like the hotline operator? _Harry—"_

"On the bright side," Harry said rapidly, "he's not going to commit identity fraud with my information! We're just going to, you know, do it all over my flat—"

"Ugh," Ron said. "That's one way of solving your problems, I suppose. He's hot, right? He doesn't just _sound_ hot?"

Harry rather felt that if he said out loud that he thought Tom was attractive, somehow it would get back to Tom and inflate his ego the tiniest bit more, so he settled for nodding instead. "He also gives nice gifts."

"So it's like, very lucrative hacking?" Ron questioned. "What he does?"

"He doesn't do the, uh, ransom thing that Hermione mentioned." Harry said. "He answers the phone and talks to people."

Hermione rubbed at her temples. "How did he know your name, then?"

"Caller ID," Harry said simply. "It was just a misunderstanding." The details of said misunderstanding simply ran a lot deeper than Tom knowing Harry's full name.

"Told you nothing bad would happen," Ron said smugly. "Harry got a boyfriend out of it. Should we call now? Is that why he's not doing anything at the moment? He's waiting for someone to, y'know—" Ron held his hand up, making the universal hand gesture for a phone call.

"Just a minute ago, you wanted this conversation topic to die," Hermione said, exasperated. "Make up your mind."

"That was before I knew the phone line was for pranks," Ron protested. "I'm going to call right now. Is it billed by the minute or something? How does it work?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe?"

Ron pulled out his phone. "You have the number? Or should I look it up again?"

"We're eating," Hermione said. "Can't you wait until after?"

"I'll put him on speaker," Ron said, waving her off. "Harry?"

"Uh, yes. One moment." Harry scrolled through his contact list and found the one he'd labelled as Tom's 'work' number.

"Awesome." Ron punched the number in and waited while it connected.

_RING. RING. RINNNG._

After a second longer, Tom picked up and answered in his smooth customer service voice: "Voldemort's Assassin Hotline. My name is Tom, and I'll be assisting you with all your assassination needs today."

"Fantastic," Ron said immediately. He cracked his knuckles out, then stretched his shoulders back as well. "My name's Ron, Ron Weasley. I can spell that out for you if you need it. But anyway, I've got a long list, so I hope you've got a pen and paper lying around 'cause this is going to take a while." He did not wait for Tom to respond before he continued, "So we're starting off with the Malfoys—"

Harry went back to eating his pizza. Ron was right, of course. This was going to take a while.

  
  


**END.**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this story may or may not have sequels (it is,,, likely (?) but no promises), so i have made a series for it! 
> 
> * * *
> 
> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing (and where i livewrite things sometimes) [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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